


Blocked

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Writer!Marco, Writer's Block, editor!jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco has writers block and is living on coffee and granola bars. Jean goes over to make sure he's not dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blocked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CosmicPeppermintLatte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicPeppermintLatte/gifts).



“You still stuck?” Jean's voice came streaming through Marco's phone. 

Marco managed to nod into the phone before letting out a hoarse whisper. “Yeah...”

Marco hadn't slept in two days. He had been living on coffee and granola bars, camped in front of his laptop in case an idea struck when he was least expecting it.

One hadn't.

Marco had been trying for weeks to come up with the perfect ending to his latest novel, but for some reason, inspiration had evaded him. It was like trying to catch smoke.

Through the phone, Jean heaved a sigh. “Marco, you sound awful. I'm coming over to make sure you're not dead.”

“You don't have to do that,” Marco whispered. 

“I know I don't, but if my most important writer suddenly dies on me from lack of sleep, I'll be fucked.” With that, Jean hung up.

Marco set his cell phone down with a sigh. His editor could be a real hard-ass sometimes.

 

About half an hour after the phone call, there was a knock at the door. Marco stood up, stretched his aching legs, and went to go answer it.

It was Jean, with a large brown paper bag in his hand.

“I brought food.” Jean announced, strolling into the apartment, giving the paper bag a slight jiggle. 

“You didn't have to do that,” Marco croaked, his voice cracking from lack of use over the past few days. 

“Yes I did. And I also,” Jean opened the bag and began rummaging around in it. He produced a red bag marked 'Cough Drops'. “Brought these. You sounded like shit on the phone and even worse in person.”

The editor tossed the bag to his writer, who caught it gracefully. As Jean continued into the dining area of the apartment he couldn't help but notice how cluttered everything was. With a shrug, he set the bag down on the kitchen table and pulled the contents out – a Tupperware of soup, a jar of salad, and a banana – and placed them on the table.

“Sit down and eat. We'll do some cleaning later.” He told Marco, gesturing with a grand wave of his hand. At the sight of food – actual, real food, and not just instant coffee and granola bars – Marco felt his stomach rumble. He reached for the jar of salad first.

“Who on earth,” He asked through a mouthful of spinach. “Puts salad in a mason jar?”

“Me.” Jean quirked an eyebrow up. 

“God, you're such a hipster.” Marco chuckled, still cramming greens into his mouth at a feverish pace. 

“Don't be a hater.”

Marco swallowed his last mouthful of salad and reached for the soup. “Can you pass me a spoon? Top drawer on the left... thanks!”

As soon as his editor passed him the proper utensil, Marco repeated the same actions he had taken on the salad, and within minutes the entire Tupperware of cold tomato soup was gone.

“You really should slow down,” Jean advised, watching his writer carefully. “You'll get a stomachache.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “I haven't eaten legitimate food in two days. I'm hungry!” He informed Jean between mouthfuls of soup.

“That won't stop you from getting a stomach ache.” Jean tutted. 

Marco began to peel open the banana and broke off a small piece. He tossed it at his editor, and watched, with great amusement, as the mushy fruit landed in Jean's two-tone hair.

“Lighten up, Jean.” He grinned. 

As soon as the initial shock of having a piece of banana land in his hair wore off, Jean found it pretty funny. It was especially funny when he got revenge by flicking a carrot slice that had stuck to the bottom of the salad jar at Marco. 

“Ew that is so gross!” Marco giggled, plucking the carrot off his sweatshirt, which, now that Jean was looking at it, seemed (and smelled) like it hadn't been washed in awhile.

“Marco,” Jean started, trying to be delicate. “How long have you been wearing that sweatshirt?”

Being delicate wasn't Jean's strong suit.

Marco looked down at his green sweatshirt. He blushed. “Will you be mad at me if I say three days?”

Jean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Take it off. We're going to wash it.” 

No questions asked, Marco pulled the sweatshirt over his head and handed it to Jean. 

Jean tried his hardest not to stare. But it was really hard not to, because Marco had been shirtless under his sweatshirt. And what's more, he had the greatest set of abs Jean had ever seen. Which was particularly impressive because Jean suspected the writer had been too caught up in writers block to do basic needs, like exercise or even eat properly. 

“Urm, uh, yeah, so, um where's your, um, washing machine?” Jean stammered, trying to keep his eyes on the floor and his cheeks their normal shade. 

“It's on the building's first floor.” Marco informed his editor, no hint of shame tainting his voice. 

“Er, okay then. I'll go... load it on up then.” With that, Jean hurried out of the apartment to the first floor, his cheeks burning crimson all the way.

 

Jean was pleased that when he returned to Marco's apartment, Marco was wearing a shirt and cleaning.

“Oh you're back already! Look, I've been cleaning!” The writer smiled, waving the broom he was holding. 

“Great,” Jean smiled weakly, still not over the sight of him shirtless. 

Marco gave a nod and then continued to sweep. 

Jean made his way over to the desk where Marco's laptop sat on a sea of papers and empty coffee mugs, rimmed with the grinds of cups long ago finished. He grabbed all the coffee cups he could carry and went back to the kitchen area so he could load the dishwasher. 

The pair continued to clean until the place nearly shown. The desk in the corner was de-cluttered, the dust bunnies that were big enough to be actual rabbits were swept away, and everything was in its place. 

“Thanks so much for helping me, Jean.” Marco grinned, admiring their handiwork. His voice had regained its usual richness, thanks to the cough drops he had been sucking on while he cleaned.

“No problem. You need a decent working space.” Jean nodded.

“No, thanks for everything. Thanks for seeing the potential in my stories. Thanks for all your support and feedback on my novels. Thanks for coming over today and feeding me and helping me clean. Thanks for just existing.” With that, Marco set his broom down, strolled over to his editor, and crushed their lips together.

What the...? Was Jean's only thought as his lips were brought against Marco's. 

The kiss was as nice as it was unexpected. Marco's lips were soft and tasted vaguely like banana, which were both pluses in Jean's book.   
When they broke apart, they spent several seconds merely staring at each other, just drinking in the tiny details of each others faces.

“Hi.” Marco whispered. “Was that okay?”

Jean nodded, not trusting his voice to be anything other than a squeak. 

“Oh, good. I've been wanting to do that since you flicked that carrot on me.” Marco murmured, bringing his lips close to the editor's ear. 

“Ah, yes. The ultimate way to seduce someone. Flick a carrot on them.” Jean teased. 

Marco snorted. It was an oddly adorable sound, in Jean's opinion, and he was about to lean in and kiss the writer again but the moment was interrupted by a phone ringing. 

Jean heaved a sigh and pulled his ancient flip phone out of his pocket. 

“Yeah Armin?” He droned at his fellow editor. 

“Mr. Jaeger is looking for you!” The blond chirped through the phone. Jean sighed again. Eren Jaeger was his boss and an even bigger hard-ass than he was. 

“Just tell him I'm busy,” Jean snapped, watching Marco walk over to the couch out of the corner of his eye.

“But -” Armin started.

“Bye Armin.” Jean cut off the blond by snapping his phone shut. He then made his way to where Marco was slumped over on the couch. The editor sat down, careful to not crush the writer's legs.

“I'm tired.” Marco murmured. 

“I'll bet. You've been up for.... how long have you been up?”

“Like two days.” Marco yawned. “Will you cuddle with me?”

Jean froze. He didn't know how to cuddle. But he was willing to try. So he slowly wrapped his arms around Marco and planted delicate kisses onto his neck. 

“I like how you cuddle.” Marco whispered. 

Jean smiled and nuzzled his face into Marco's neck, getting a good whiff of his hair in the process. It smelt like pineapple. Slowly Jean let himself melt into the writer, their limbs entwining peacefully. They lay like that for quite awhile, and Jean felt himself dozing off. 

Suddenly, Marco's eyes jolted open. 

“What is it, babe?” Jean asked sleepily. 

“'I know how it ends!” Marco practically shouted.

Jean tugged the writer closer and planted a kiss in his dark hair. “Know how what ends?”

“My book!” Marco hollered. He jumped into a standing position, darting over to his laptop. Jean sat up to watch as the writer frantically tapped out words on his keyboard, fingers flying gracefully in an attempt to turn thoughts into ink.

Jean sighed and ran a hand through his two-tone hair. “I just got cock-blocked by a book.”


End file.
